The work of destruction continued among the towns of New England at this period. To a greater or less extent Rehoboth and Providence suffered—also, Plymouth, Chelmsford, and Andover—either men were killed, or dwelling-houses and barns were burned. But the most signal disaster, at this time, fell upon the English in the vicinity of Sudbury. On the morning of the 20th of April, the largest body of Indians which had at any time appeared, attacked the place, and, before a force could be brought against them, set fire to several buildings, which were consumed. The inhabitants rallied, and bravely defended their homes; and, being soon joined by some soldiers from Watertown, they forced the Indians to retreat without effecting further mischief against the town that day. On hearing the news of the attack on Sudbury, some of the people of Concord flew for its protection. As they approached a garrison-house, a few Indians were discovered, and a pursuit was given them. The flight of the latter proved to be only a decoy, and the Concord people, eleven in number, found themselves ambushed on every side. Fighting with the utmost desperation, they were all cut off except one. The Indians, who remained in the adjoining woods for further depredations, found another opportunity to glut their vengeance against the whites. Captain Wadsworth, hearing of the transactions at Sudbury, marched with several men, joined by Captain Brocklebank and ten others, towards the place. At a mile and a half from the town, five hundred Indians lay in ambush behind the hills. When Wadsworth arrived at the spot, the Indians sent out a few of their party, who crossed the track of the English, and, being discovered by the latter, affected to fly through fear. Wadsworth, with great want of caution, immediately commenced a pursuit, and was consequently drawn into the ambush. The Indians began the attack with great boldness. For some time, the English maintained good order, and retreated with small loss to an adjacent hill. After fighting four hours, and losing many men, the Indians became doubly enraged, and resolved to try the effect of another stratagem. In this they completely succeeded. They immediately set the woods on fire to the windward of the English, which, owing to the wind, and the dryness of grass and other combustibles, spread with great and fatal rapidity. The English were driven, by the fury of the flames, from their favorable position, and were thus exposed to the tomahawks of the Indians. Nearly all the English fell—some accounts say that they sold their lives, to the last man.

Connecticut, not being exposed to the incursions of the natives, sent out several volunteer companies in aid of her sister colonies, in addition to the troops required as her quota in the present war. These volunteer forces were raised principally from New London, Norwich, and Stonington, joined by a body of friendly Indians. On the 27th of March, a body of these troops, under Captains Dennison and Avery, penetrated the country of the hostile Narragansets. In the course of their excursion, they struck the trail of a large body of Indians, and commenced pursuit. The latter, upon the approach of the English, scattered in all directions. It proved to be a force commanded by Conanchet. He took a route by himself and, being swift of foot, hoped to outstrip his pursuers. In crossing a river, however, he accidentally plunged under water, and wet his gun. On this occurrence, he was soon overtaken by a fast-running Pequod, to whom he surrendered himself at once. A young Englishman, coming up, began to put various questions to the chief, who, little liking to be catechised in that manner, replied to him, with a look of contempt: "You much child—no understand matters of war; let your captain come: him I will answer." Conanchet was conveyed to Stonington, and, after a sort of trial, was condemned to be shot by the Mohegan and Pequod sachems. The alternative of life was, however, presented to him, if he would make peace with the English. The chieftain indignantly refused it, and gave utterance to the feelings of his untamed spirit, when his sentence was pronounced, in the sentiment, that "he liked it well that he should die before his heart was soft, or he had said any thing unworthy of himself." Conanchet was the son of the famous Miantonimoh, who was put to death by Uncas, as related in another portion of this work.[22]

When success no longer attended Philip in Massachusetts, those of his allies whom he had seduced into this war began to accuse him as the author of all their calamities. Many of the tribes, therefore, scattered themselves in different directions. The Deerfield Indians were among the first who abandoned his cause, and many of the Nipmucks and Narragansets soon followed their example. Still, Philip, though he had not been much seen during the winter—and it is doubtful, even, where he had spent the most of it—had no intention of abating his efforts against the English. In the month of May, 1676, he was found at the head of a powerful force, in the northern part of Massachusetts, extending many miles on its frontier from east to west. Considerable numbers of his people were also still in and about Narraganset, ravaging and annoying the adjacent English settlements.

Large bodies of the Indians, about this time, anxious to secure the advantages of fishing in Connecticut river, took up positions at the falls, between the present towns of Gill and Montague. This was in the vicinity of the line of country occupied by Philip's forces. They felt the more secure here, as the English forces at Hadley and the adjacent towns were not at this time at all numerous. Two captive lads, who had escaped from the Indians, informed the English of their situation, and the little pains they had taken to guard themselves. The intelligence thus brought induced the people of Hatfield, Hadley, and Northampton, to raise a force, for the purpose of attacking the enemy at so favorable a point. About one hundred and sixty troops were raised, and placed under the command of Captain Turner. They marched silently in the dead of the night, and came upon the Indians a little before the dawn of day, whom they found almost in a dead sleep, and without any scouts abroad, or watching around their wigwams at home.

When the Indians were first awakened by the thunder of their guns, they cried out, "Mohawks! Mohawks!" as if their own native enemies had been upon them; but the dawning of the light soon rectified their error, though it could not prevent their danger. The loss of the Indians was great: one hundred men were left dead on the ground, and one hundred and forty were seen to pass down the cataract, but one of whom escaped drowning.

The march of the English forces back was, however, attended with no small disaster. The Indians, learning the inconsiderable numbers that had attacked them, rallied in their turn, and hung upon the rear of the English. Their captain, just then enfeebled by sickness, was unable to arrange or conduct his forces as they should have been; and the consequence was a degree of confusion, and their separation into small parties. In this manner, they suffered the loss of thirty-eight men, though the Indians paid dearly for it by the loss of more than a hundred of their warriors on the way. Captain Turner perished in the expedition.

By the destruction at the falls, Philip's forces were seriously diminished; yet his spirit continued unsubdued and undaunted, and he was resolved to retort upon the English the injuries he had sustained. Accordingly, on the 30th of May, six hundred of his warriors appeared at Hatfield, and rushed suddenly into the town. They immediately set fire to twelve unfortified buildings, and attacked several palisaded dwelling-houses. These were bravely defended by the people. In the midst of the fight, as the inhabitants were attacked, whether in their dwellings or at their labors, a party of twenty-five resolute young men crossed the river from Hadley, and came with such animation upon the Indians, and with so deadly a fire, that the latter were driven back. Eventually, the whole body of the enemy was obliged to return, without effecting, as was intended, the complete destruction of the place. They, however, drove off a large number of sheep and cattle.

Massachusetts and Connecticut now increased their forces in this quarter, as it appeared that the foe was determined on devastating the settlements upon the river. Hadley became next the object of attack, in which about seven hundred Indians were engaged. The assault was made on the 12th of June, the Indians having laid an ambuscade at the southern extremity, and advanced the main body towards the other the preceding night. Though the Indians exhibited their usual fierceness, they were met and repulsed at the palisades. Renewing their attacks upon other points, they seemed resolved to carry the place. Still, they were held in check until assistance arrived from Northampton, when the foe was driven into the woods.

It was during this attack, as is supposed, that the assistance was afforded to the whites which has generally been ascribed to Goffe, one of the fugitive judges from England, which at the time was believed to have been rendered by the guardian angel of the place. In the midst of the confusion and distress of the battle, a gray-headed, venerable-looking man, whose costume differed from that of the inhabitants, appeared, and assumed the direction of the defence. He arrayed the people in the best manner, showing that he well understood military tactics, led in the battle, and, by his exhortations and efforts, rendered essential aid on the occasion. After the departure of the Indians, he was not observed, and nothing was heard of him afterwards. As it is known that, at that time, Goffe and Whalley were concealed in the house of Mr. Russel in Hadley, it is inferred that one of these men, Goffe (for Whalley was superanuated) left his concealment, in the danger which existed, and put forth the effort here recorded, in order to save the town.

Philip was now secure in no place, but his haughty spirit was untamed by adversity. Although meeting with constant losses, and among them some of his most experienced warriors, he, nevertheless, seemed as hostile and determined as ever. In August, the intrepid Church made a descent upon his head-quarters, at Matapoiset, where he killed and took prisoners about one hundred and thirty of his men. Even Philip escaped with difficulty. So great was his precipitation, that he was obliged to leave his wampum behind, which, with his wife and son, fell into the hands of the victors. That son, it was afterwards ascertained, was sold into slavery, as it was also the mournful fact, with a number of Philip's captured followers. Philip, as stated above, escaped with difficulty. The particulars, as related by Church, are as follow: Church's guide had brought him to a place where a large tree, which the enemy had fallen across a river, lay. Church had come to the top end of the tree when he happened to spy an Indian upon the stump of it, on the other side of the stream. He immediately leveled his gun against the Indian, and had doubtless despatched him, had not one of his own Indians called hastily to him not to fire, for he believed it was one of his own men. Hearing this, in all probability the Indian upon the stump looked about, and Church's Indian, then seeing his face, perceived his mistake, for he knew him to be Philip. Church's Indian then fired himself, but it was too late. Philip immediately threw himself off the stump, leaped down a bank on the other side of the river, and was out of sight. Church at once gave chase for him, but was unable to discover his course, and only took some of his friends and followers, as has been related.

But from this time, Philip was too closely watched and hotly pursued to escape destruction. His end was rapidly drawing near, his followers mostly deserted him, and he was driven from place to place, until he found himself in his ancient seat near Pokanoket. The immediate occasion of his death is thus narrated: He having put to death one of his own men, for advising him to make peace, this man's brother, whose name was Alderman, fearing the same fate, deserted him, and gave Captain Church an account of his situation, and offered to lead him to his camp. Early on Saturday morning, 12th August, Church came to the swamp where Philip was encamped, and, before he was discovered, had placed a guard about it so as to encompass it, except at a small place. He then ordered Captain Golding to rush into the swamp, and fall upon Philip in his camp, which he immediately did, but was discovered as he approached, and, as usual, Philip was the first to fly. Having but just awaked from sleep, and having put on part of his clothes, he fled with all his might. Coming directly upon an Englishman and Indian, who composed a part of the ambush at the edge of the swamp, the Englishman's gun missed fire, but Alderman, the Indian, whose gun was loaded with two balls, sent one through his heart and another not above two inches from it. "He fell upon his face in the mud and water, with his gun under him."

This important news was immediately communicated to Captain Church, by the man who performed the exploit; but the captain suffered nothing to be said concerning it, as he wished to dislodge the enemy from his retreat. Philip's great captain, Annawon, had, however, led out about sixty of his followers from their dangerous situation, and, when the English scoured the swamp, they found not many Indians left. These were killed and captured. After the affair was over, Church communicated to his troops the gratifying intelligence of Philip's death, upon which the whole army gave three loud huzzas. Philip's body was drawn from the spot where he fell, the head taken off, and the body left unburied, to be devoured by wild beasts. With the great chief fell five of his most trusty followers; one of whom was his chief captain's son, and the Indian who fired the first gun in this bloody war. Thus fell this chieftain, who, though an untutored savage, was doubtless a great man—considered in reference to his intellectual resources and the influence he wielded among his compatriots. Had his lot fallen among a civilized race, and fighting as he did for his native country, he had been as illustrious as any hero of any age or clime.

Philip's war proved a most serious concern to the infant colonies. It cost them half a million of dollars, and the lives of above six hundred inhabitants, who were either killed in battle, or otherwise destroyed by the enemy. Thirteen towns and six hundred houses were burned, and there was scarcely a family in the United Colonies that had not occasion to mourn the death of a relative. Dr. Trumbull thinks the loss exceeds the common estimate. He concludes that about one fencible man in eleven was killed, and every eleventh family burned out. But the war was still more disastrous to the Indians. Great numbers of them fell in battle; their lodges were destroyed, and, indeed, their country conquered. Scarcely a hundred warriors remained of the great leading tribe of the Narragansets.[23]

Of Philip's warriors, several were remarkable men.—Among these were Nanunteno, or Cononchet; Annawon, Quinnapin, Tuspaquin, and Tatoson. We can briefly notice but one—the mighty Annawon. We have seen that at the time of Philip's death, he escaped with a number of his men. The place of his retreat was not long after disclosed by an Indian and his daughter, who had been captured. It was in a swamp in the south-east part of Rehoboth. Captain Church, upon this information, adopted a most daring stratagem to secure Annawon. At the head of a small party, conducted by his informers, Church cautiously approached in the evening the edge of a rocky precipice, under which the chief was encamped, and critically examined the position. The Indians, their arms, their employments, (for they were preparing for a meal,) and other defences, were all noticed by Captain Church; and particularly the fact, that Annawon and his son were reposing near the arms. As he learned from his guide that no one was allowed to go out or come into the camp, except by the precipice, he determined to seek his object in that direction. The Indian and his daughter, according to a concerted plan, with baskets upon their backs, as if bringing in provisions, preceded Church and his men, by their shadows concealing the latter, and descended the rock. In this way, although with great difficulty, they all reached the bottom without alarming the Indians. It happened, singularly enough, that their descent was accomplished without discovery, on account of the noise made by the pounding of a mortar; a squaw being engaged in that work in preparing green dried corn for their supper. Under favor of the noise thus made, the rustling sound proceeding from their leaps from crag to crag was not noticed. Church, with his hatchet in his hand, stepped over the young man's head to the arms. The young Annawon threw his blanket suddenly over his head, and shrunk up in a heap. The old chief started upon end, and cried out Howah! meaning Welcome! Finding that there was no escape, he resigned himself to his fate, and fell back on his couch; while his captors secured the rest of the company. English and Indian amicably ate their supper together, and Church afterwards laid down to rest, as he had not slept during the thirty-six previous hours; but his mind was too full of cares to admit of repose, and after lying a short time, he got up. On one occasion, during the night, he felt suspicious of Annawon's intentions, as the latter, after attempting in vain to sleep, arose, and left the spot a short time. Returning with something in his hands, (Church having in the mean time prepared himself for the worst,) he placed it on the ground, and, falling on his knees before his captor, said: "Great Captain, you have killed Philip and conquered his country, for I believe that I and my company are the last that war against the English. I suppose the war is ended by your means." His pack consisted of presents, being principally several belts of wampum, curiously wrought, and a red cloth blanket, the royal dress of Philip. These he gave to Church, expressing his gratification in having an opportunity of delivering them to him.

The remainder of the night they spent in discourse, in which Annawon gave an account of his success and exploits in former wars with the Indians when he served Asuhmequin, Philip's father. Annawon, it is said, had confessed that he had put to death several of the captive English, and could not deny but that some of them had been tortured. Under these circumstances, and considering the exasperation which the English naturally felt, it was hardly to be expected that mercy should be shown him. Church, however, did not intend that he should be put to death, and had earnestly entreated for him; but in his absence from Plymouth, not long after, the old chief was executed.

It is not uncommon with historians and others, to denounce and execrate the conduct of Philip and his warriors, as wanton and savage. They were doubtless cruel—they were savage. The writer would not become their panegyrist. But let it be remembered, that if they cannot be exculpated, there are mitigating circumstances which should always be mentioned in connection with their most inhuman barbarities. The influences of Christianity never bore upon them. They inflicted no greater tortures upon the English than they often inflicted upon other prisoners of their own complexion. But in addition, they were fighting for their own country. They were patriots—and they saw in the progress and prosperity of the English, the downfall of Indian power—the annihilation of Indian title. They were fathers, husbands, and full well did they know that soon their family relations would be broken up—and the inheritance of their children for ever fail. Who can blame them for wishing to perpetuate their hold on their native hunting grounds—or leaving to their posterity an inheritance dear to them as ours is to us?—We cannot justify their treachery—their indiscriminate and wholesale butcheries—but surely we may admire their bravery—their endurance—their patriotism.

VIII. WAR OF WILLIAM III.

Combination of French and Indians against the Americans—Burning of Schenectady—Cause of it—Horrors attending it—Attack upon Salmon Falls—Upon Casco—Results of Expeditions fitted out by New York and New England—Reduction of Port Royal—Atrocities which marked the war—Attack on Haverhill, Mass.—Heroic Conduct of Mrs. Dustan—Peace.

During the three wars of King William, Queen Anne, and George II., the sufferings of the northern colonies were severe and protracted, or were intermitted only at short intervals. The hostility of the Indians was kept alive, and often kindled into a fresh flame, through the agency of European settlers on their northern border. These took up the quarrel of France and England, and sought occasions to molest the subjects of the English sovereign in America.

In King William's War, the French combined with the Indians in bringing fire and sword upon the inhabitants of New England and New York. A connected account need not be given of the disastrous occurrences that took place, during this sanguinary war; but only particular instances of hostilities, and their effects, will be narrated in this portion of the present work.

We commence with the attack on Schenectady. This was made in pursuance of a plan adopted by Count Frontenac, then the governor of Canada, in revenging on the English colonies the treatment which King James had received from the English government, and which had inflamed the resentment of Frontenac's master, Louis XIV. The governor fitted out three expeditions against the American colonies in the midst of winter, of which one was against New York. The attack on Schenectady was the fruit of this expedition. It was made by a party, consisting of about two hundred French and, perhaps, fifty Caughnewaga Indians, under the command of two French officers, Maulet and St. Helene, in 1689-90.

Schenectady was then in the form of an oblong square, having a gate at each extremity. But as one of the gates only could be found, they all entered at that one. The gate was not only open, but was also unguarded. Although the town was impaled, and might have been protected, no one deemed it necessary to close the gate at night, presuming that the severity of the season was a sufficient security. The enemy divided themselves into several parties, and waylaid every portal, and then raised the war-whoop. It was between eleven and twelve o'clock on Saturday night, the 8th of February, when the fearful tragedy commenced. Maulet attacked a garrison, where the only resistance of any account was made. He soon forced the gate, and all the English were slaughtered, and the garrison burned. One of the French officers was wounded, in forcing a house, and thereby wholly disabled; but St. Helene having come to his assistance, the house was taken and all who had shut themselves in it were put to the sword. Nothing was now to be seen but massacre and pillage on every side. The most shocking barbarities were committed on the inhabitants. "Sixty-three houses and the church were immediately in a blaze. Enciente women, in their expiring agonies, saw their infants cast into the flames, being first delivered by the knife of the midnight assassin. Sixty-three persons were murdered and twenty-seven were carried into captivity."

A few persons were enabled to escape, but being without sufficient clothing, they lost their limbs from the severity of the cold, as they traveled towards Albany.

About noon, the next day, the enemy left the desolated place, taking such plunder as they could carry with them, and destroying the remainder. It was designed, it seems, to spare the minister of the place, as Maulet wanted him as his own prisoner; but he was found among the mangled dead, and his papers burned. The houses of two or three individuals were spared, for particular reasons, while the rest were consigned to the flames.

Owing to the state of the traveling, news of the massacre did not reach the great Mohawk castle, seventeen miles distant, until at the expiration of two days. On the reception of the news, a party commenced a pursuit of the foe. After a tedious route, they fell upon their rear, killed and took twenty-five of them, and effected some other damage.

The second party of French and Indians was sent against the delightful settlement at Salmon Falls, on the Piscataqua. At Three Rivers, Frontenac had fitted out an expedition of fifty-two men and twenty-five Indians. They had an officer at their head in whom the greatest confidence could be reposed—Sieur Hertel. In his small band he had three sons and two nephews. After a long and rugged march, Hertel reached the place on the 27th of March, 1690. His spies having reconnoitered it, he divided his men into three companies, the largest portion of which he led himself. The attack was made at the break of day. The English made a stout resistance, but were unable to withstand the well-directed fire of the assailants. Thirty of the bravest of the inhabitants were cut to pieces; the remainder, amounting to fifty-four, were made prisoners. The English had twenty-seven houses reduced to ashes, and two thousand domestic animals perished in the barns that had been burned.

The third party, which was fitted out from Quebec by the directions of Frontenac, made an attack upon Casco, in Maine. This was commanded by M. de Portneuf. Hertel, on his return to Canada, met with this expedition, and, joining it with the force under his command, came back to the scene of warfare in which he had been so unhappily successful. As the hostile company marched through the country of the Abenakis, numbers of them joined it. Portneuf, with his forces thus augmented, came into the neighborhood of Casco, according to the French account, on the 25th of May, 1690. On the following night, having prepared an ambush, he succeeded in taking and killing an Englishman who fell into it. Upon this occurrence, the Indians raised the war-whoop, and about fifty English soldiers, leaving the garrison to learn the occasion of it, had nearly reached the ambush, when they were fired upon. Before they could make resistance, they were fallen upon by the French and Indians, who, with their swords and tomahawks, made such a slaughter, that but four of them escaped, and those with severe wounds. "The English, seeing now that they must stand a siege, abandoned four garrisons, and all retired into one which was provided with cannon. Before these were abandoned, an attack was made upon one of them, in which the French were repulsed with the loss of one Indian killed, and one Frenchman wounded. Portneuf began now to doubt of his ability to take Casco, fearing the issue; for his commission only ordered him to lay waste the English settlements, and not to attempt fortified places. But, in this dilemma, Hertel and Hopehood (a celebrated chief of the tribe of the Kennebecks), arrived. It was now determined to press the siege. In the deserted forts they found all the necessary tools for carrying on the work, and they began a mine within fifty feet of the fort, under a steep bank, which entirely protected them from its guns. The English became discouraged, and, on the 28th of May, surrendered themselves prisoners of war. There were seventy men, and probably a much greater number of women and children; all of whom, except Captain Davis, who commanded the garrison, and three or four others, were given up to the Indians, who murdered most of them in their most cruel manner; and, if the accounts be true, Hopehood excelled all other savages in acts of cruelty."

These barbarous transactions, producing alike terror and indignation, aroused New England and New York to attempt a formidable demonstration against the enemy. The general court of Massachusetts sent letters of request to the several executives of the provinces, pursuant to which they convened at New York, May 1st, 1691. Two important measures were adopted, as the result of the deliberations, on this occasion—Connecticut sent General Winthrop, with troops, to march through Albany, there to receive supplies, and to be joined by a body of men from New York. The expedition was to proceed up Lake Champlain, and was destined for the destruction of Montreal. There was a failure, however, of the supplies, and thus the project was defeated. Massachusetts sent forth a fleet of thirty-four sail, under Sir William Phipps. He proceeded to Port Royal, took it, reduced Acadia, and thence sailed up the St. Lawrence, with the design of capturing Quebec. The troops landed, with some difficulty, and the place was boldly summoned to surrender. A proud defiance was returned by Frontenac. The position of the latter happened to be strengthened, just at this time, by a rëinforcement from Montreal. Phipps, learning this, and finding also that the party of Winthrop, which he expected from Montreal, had failed, gave up the attempt, and returned to Boston, with the loss of several vessels and a considerable number of troops. A part of his fleet had been wrecked by a storm.

During the progress of King William's War, the atrocities committed upon the colonists, by the French and Indians, were equal to any recorded in the annals of the most barbarous age. Connected with these, were instances of heroic valor on the part of the sufferers, which are not surpassed by any on the historic page. A specimen will here be related: On the 15th of March, 1697, the last year of King William's War, an attack was suddenly made on Haverhill, in Massachusetts, by a party of about twenty Indians. It was a rapid, but fatal onset, and a fitting finale of so dreadful a ten years' war. Eight houses were destroyed, twenty-seven persons killed, and thirteen carried away prisoners. One of these houses belonged to a Mr. Dustan, in the skirts of the town. Mr. Dustan was engaged in work at some distance from home, but, by some means, he learned what was passing at the place.

Before the Indians had reached his house, he had arrived there, and been able to make some arrangements for the removal of his wife and children. The latter he bid to run. His wife, who had but only a few days before become the mother of an infant, was in no condition to leave her bed. He undertook, however, to remove her, but it was too late. The Indians were rushing on. No time could be lost; and Mr. Dustan turned with despair from the mother of his children, to the children themselves. It became necessary at once to hasten their flight—they were seven in number, besides the infant left with its mother, the eldest being seventeen years, and the youngest two years old. The Indians were upon them, and what could the agonized father do? With his gun he mounted his horse, and riding in the direction of his children, overtook them only about forty rods from the house. His first intention was to take up the child that he could least spare, and escape with that. But, alas! that point he was unable to decide—they were all equally dear to him. He, therefore, determined to resist the enemy, who was on a pursuit, and, if possible, save all. Facing the savages, he fired, and they returned the fire. The Indians, however, did not choose to follow up the pursuit, either from fear of the resolute father, who continued to fire as he retreated, or from an apprehension of arousing the neighboring English, before they could finish their depredations in the town, and hence this part of the family soon effected their escape.

We now return to the house. There was living in it a nurse, Mrs. Neff, who heroically shared the fate of her mistress, when escape was in her power. The Indians entered the house, and, having ordered the sick woman to rise and sit quietly in the corner of the fire-place, they commenced the pillage of the dwelling, and concluded by setting it on fire. At the approach of night, Mrs. Dustan was forced to march into the wilderness, and seek repose upon the hard, cold ground. Mrs. Neff, in attempting to elude the Indians with the infant, was intercepted. The babe was taken from her, and its brains beat out against a neighboring tree. The captives, when collected, amounted to thirteen in number. That same day they were marched twelve miles before encamping, although it was nearly night before they set out. Succeeding this, for several days, they were obliged to keep up with their savage comrades, over an extent of country of not less than one hundred and forty or fifty miles. Mrs. Dustan, feeble as she had been, wonderfully supported the fatigue incident to her situation.

After this, the Indians, according to their custom, divided their prisoners. Mrs. Dustan, Mrs. Neff, and a captive lad from Worcester, fell to the share of an Indian family consisting of twelve persons. These now took charge of the captives, and appear to have treated them with no unkindness, save that of forcing them to extend their journey still farther towards an Indian settlement. They, however, gave the prisoners to understand that there was one ceremony to which they must submit, after they had arrived at their place of destination, and that was to run the gauntlet between two files of Indians. This announcement filled Mrs. Dustan and her two companions with so much dread, that they mutually decided to attempt an escape. Accordingly, after obtaining information from the Indians themselves, as to the way of killing and scalping their enemies, who gave the information without suspecting their object, they laid their plans for taking the lives of the savages. One night, "when the Indians were in the most sound sleep, these three captives arose, and, softly arming themselves with the tomahawks of their masters, allotted the number each should kill; and so truly did they direct their blows, that but two, a boy and a woman, made their escape, the latter having been seriously wounded. Having finished their fearful work, they hastily left the place. As the scene of the exploit was a small island, in the mouth of a stream that falls into the Merrimack, they made use of a boat of the Indians to effect their escape; the others being scuttled to prevent the use of them in pursuit, should the Indians be near; and thus, with what provisions and arms the Indian camp afforded, they embarked, and slowly took the course of the river for their homes, which they reached without accident."

The whole country was startled at the relation of the heroic deed, the truth of which was never questioned. The palpable proofs of their feat they brought with them, and the general court of Massachusetts gave them fifty pounds as a reward, and they received from individuals likewise substantial tokens, expressing the admiration in which the exploit was held. The governor of Maryland, hearing of the transaction, sent them also a generous present.

This is a case where individuals may, perhaps, differ in opinion as to the strict moral propriety of the deed. The necessity of such an act, for relief from suffering, may be estimated differently, according to the different theories which men have adopted. Yet it seems to have been generally, if not universally approved by those who lived contemporaneously with the transaction; and who, from the stern integrity of their character, and from their acquaintance with the circumstances of the country, were peculiarly well fitted to judge.

Such were some of the striking events during the period of King William's War; a war which continued nearly ten years, and brought incalculable distress upon the colonies. The peace of Ryswick, in 1697, put an end to it; but this peace proved to be of short duration.

IX. QUEEN ANNE'S WAR.

Principal Scenes of this War in America—Attack upon Deerfield—Captivity and Sufferings of Rev. Mr. Williams—Other Disasters of the War—Peace—Death of Queen Anne—Accession of George I.—Continued Sufferings of the Colonies of Massachusetts and New Hampshire—Peace concluded with the Indians at Boston.

King William having deceased in 1702, Queen Anne was seated on the British throne, and war soon began again to rage throughout Europe. England and France, including Spain also, drew the sword, to settle some unadjusted claims between them, and the contest of the parent countries, as usual, soon involved their American colonies. The states of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, became the principal scenes of the war in America, the colony of New York being secured from aggression through the neutrality of the Five Nations on her borders. The war, which lasted more than ten years, is generally denominated Queen Anne's War, and was attended with the usual barbarous and distressing results incident to savage warfare.

The drama opened at Deerfield, on the Connecticut river, on the 19th of February, 1704. The preliminaries to it had occurred a little before in the destruction of several small settlements from Casco to Wells in Maine, and the killing and capture of one hundred and thirty people in the aggregate. This was in contravention to the solemn assurance given by the eastern Indians, of peace with New England. As Deerfield was a frontier town, the enemy had watched it for the purpose of capture from an early period. Indeed, it had been constantly exposed to inroads, during King William's War, but had resolutely maintained its ground, and increased in size and population, especially from the termination of that war. It was palisaded, though imperfectly; several detached houses were protected by slight fortifications, and twenty soldiers had been placed within it. They had, however, been quartered about in different houses, and, forgetting their duty as soldiers, were surprised with the rest of the inhabitants. There was a great depth of snow upon the ground, a circumstance which gave the enemy an easy entrance over the pickets. The commander of the French was Hertel de Rouville.

The assailants, in approaching the place, used every precaution to avoid disturbing the soldiery or the inhabitants by noise in walking over the crusted snow, stopping occasionally, that the sound of their feet might appear like the fitful gusts of the wind. But the precaution was unnecessary, for the guard within the fort had retired, and fallen asleep. None, of all who were in the village, awaked, except to be put immediately into the sleep of death; to be doomed to a a horrible captivity, or to effect a difficult and hazardous escape into the adjacent woods amidst the snows of winter. The houses were assaulted by parties detached in different directions; the doors were broken open, the astonished people dragged from their beds, and pillage and personal violence in all its forms ensued. They who attempted resistance, were felled by the tomahawk or musket.

Some of the separate features of this work of destruction and scene of agony, deserve particular notice, and will ever call up the painful sympathies of the reader of history. The minister of the place, the Rev. John Williams, who subsequently wrote a narrative of the affair, and of his own captivity, was a conspicuous actor and sufferer in the sad tragedy. Early in the assault, which was not long before the break of day, about twenty Indians attacked his house. Instantly leaping from his bed, he ran towards the door, and perceived a party making their entrance into the house. He called to awaken two soldiers who were sleeping in the chamber, and had only returned to the bedside for his arms, when the enemy rushed into the room. Upon this, as he says, "I reached my hands up to the bed-tester for my pistol, uttering a short petition to God, expecting a present passage through the valley of the shadow of death." He levelled it at the breast of the foremost Indian, but it missed fire: he was immediately seized by three Indians, who secured his pistol, and, binding him fast, kept him naked in the cold, nearly the space of an hour. One of these captors was a leader or captain, who soon met the fate he merited. Says Mr. Williams, "the judgment of God did not long slumber, for by sun-rising he received a mortal shot from my next neighbor's house." This house was not a garrison, but being defended by seven resolute men, and as many resolute women, withstood the efforts of three hundred French and Indians. They attacked it repeatedly, and tried various methods to set it on fire, but without success; in the mean while suffering from the fire which was poured upon them from the windows and loop-holes of the building. The enemy gave up the attempt in despair. Mrs. Williams having been confined but a few weeks previously, was feeble—a circumstance which rendered her case hopeless; but her agony was intensely increased by witnessing the murder of two of her little ones, who were dragged to the door, and butchered, as was also a black woman belonging to the family. Rifling the house with the utmost rudeness, the enemy seized Mrs. Williams, ill as she was, and five remaining children, with a view to carry them into captivity.

While these transactions were in progress, a lodger in the house, Captain Stoddard, seized his cloak, and leaped from a chamber window. He escaped across Deerfield river, and finding it necessary to secure his feet from injury, he tore the cloak into pieces, and wrapped them up in it, and was thus enabled, though in great exhaustion, to reach Hatfield. An assault was made upon the house of Captain John Sheldon, but the door was so strong and so firmly bolted, that the enemy found it difficult to break or penetrate it. Their only resort, therefore, was to perforate it with their tomahawks. Through the aperture thus made, they thrust a musket, fired, and killed Mrs. Sheldon, a ball striking her as she was rising from her bed in an adjoining room. The mark of the ball was long to be seen in a timber near the bed, the house having been carefully preserved, bearing upon the front door the marks of the Indian hatchet. In the mean time, the son and son's wife of Captain Sheldon, sprang from a chamber window at the east end of the building; but unfortunately for the lady, her ankle became sprained by the fall, and being unable to walk, she was seized by the Indians. The husband escaped into the adjoining forest, and reached Hatfield. The enemy at length gaining possession of the house, reserved it on account of its size as a dépôt for the prisoners taken in the village.

At the expiration of about two hours, the enemy having collected the prisoners, and plundered and set fire to the buildings, took up their march from the place. Forty-seven persons had been put to death, including those killed in making the defence. "We were carried over the river to the foot of the mountain, about a mile from my house," says Mr. Williams, "where we found a great number of our Christian neighbors—men, women, and children—to the number of one hundred, nineteen of whom were afterwards murdered in the way, and two starved to death near Coos in a time of great scarcity and famine the savages underwent there. When we came to the foot of the mountain, they took away our shoes, and gave us Indian shoes, to prepare us for our journey."

At this spot, a portion of the enemy was overtaken by a party of the English, consisting of the few who had escaped, together with the men who had defended the two houses, and a small number from Hatfield, and a brisk fight ensued. The little band, however, was in danger of being surrounded by the main body of the enemy's troops, as they came into the action, and, accordingly, they were compelled to retreat. They left nine of their number slain. The attack on the enemy, under such circumstances, indicated the resolute and sympathizing spirit of the people, but it had well nigh proved fatal to the prisoners. Rouville, fearing, at one time, a defeat, had ordered the latter to be put to death, but, providentially, the bearer of the message was killed before he executed his orders. They were, nevertheless, held in readiness to be sacrificed in the event of disasters happening to the enemy.

Soon after the termination of the skirmish, Rouville commenced his march for Canada. Three hundred miles of a trackless wilderness were to be traversed, and that too at a very inclement season of the year. The prospects of the captives were gloomy beyond description. Many were women, at that time under circumstances requiring the most tender treatment. Some were young children, not sufficiently strong to endure the fatigues of traveling. Infants there were, who must be carried in their parents' arms, or left behind to be butchered by the savage or frozen on the snow; and, of the adult males, several were suffering from severe wounds.

The first day's journey was but four miles, and was signalized by the murder of an infant. The Indians, however, seemed disposed generally to favor the captives, by carrying on their backs such children as were incapable of traveling. From mercenary motives, they wished to keep all alive that they could, as the captives would bring a price, or be serviceable to them in some way, in Canada. It was no sentiment of compassion that moved them; for, as soon as their patience failed them, the miserable captive, whether man, woman, or child, was knocked on the head. At night, they encamped in a meadow, in what is now Greenfield, where they cleared away the snow, spread boughs of trees, and made slight cabins of brush, for the accommodation of the prisoners. The strongest of the latter were bound after the Indian manner that night, and every subsequent night, in order to prevent escape. In the very first night, one man broke away and escaped, and, at the same time, Mr. Williams, who was considered the principal of the captives, was informed by the commander-in-chief, that if any more attempted to escape, the rest should be put to death.

In the second day's march occurred the death of Mrs. Williams. In the course of the route, it became necessary to cross Creek river, at the upper part of Deerfield meadow. From some change of conductors, Mr. Williams, who had before been forbidden to speak to his fellow-captives, was now permitted to do it, and even to assist his distressed wife, who had begun to be exhausted. But it was their last meeting, and most affecting was the scene. She very calmly told him that her strength was fast failing, and that he would soon lose her. At the same time, she did not utter the language of discouragement or of complaint, in view of the hardness of her fortune. When the company halted, Mr. Williams' former conductor resumed his place, and ordered him into the front, and his wife was obliged to travel unaided. They had now arrived at the margin of Green river. This they passed by wading through the water, which was about two feet in depth, and running with great rapidity. They now came to a steep mountain, which it was necessary to ascend. The narrative of Mr. Williams says, here: "No sooner had I overcome the difficulty of that ascent, but I was permitted to sit down, and to be unburthened of my pack. I sat pitying those who were behind, and entreated my master to let me go down and help my wife, but he refused. I asked each of the prisoners, as they passed by me, after her, and heard that, passing through the above said river, she fell down, and was plunged all over in the water; after which, she traveled not far; for, at the foot of the mountain, the cruel and blood-thirsty savage who took her, slew her with his hatchet, at one stroke." The same day, a young woman and child were killed and scalped.

After some days, they reached the mouth of White river, where Rouville divided his force into several parties, who took different routes to the St. Lawrence. Mr. Williams belonged to a party which reached the Indian village St. Francis, on the St. Lawrence, by the way of Lake Champlain. After a short residence at that village, he was sent to Montreal, where he was treated with kindness by the governor, Vaudreuil.

In the year 1706, fifty-seven of these captives were conveyed to Boston in a flag-ship, among whom were Mr. Williams and all his remaining children (two having been ransomed and sent home before), except his daughter Eunice, whom, notwithstanding all his exertions, he was never able to redeem, and whom, at the tender age of ten years, he was obliged to leave among the Indians. As she grew up under Indian influence, having no other home, and no other friends who could counsel and guide her, she adopted the manners and customs of the Indians, settled with them in a domestic state, and, by her husband, had several children. She became also, it is said, a Catholic, and ever afterwards firmly attached to that religion. This, perhaps, is scarcely a matter of surprise, as the sentiment was, the more easily instilled into her mind, from her age and the circumstances in which she was placed. Some time after the war, she visited her relations at Deerfield, in company with her husband. She was habited in the Indian costume, and, strange as it may seem, though every persuasive was used to induce her to abandon the savages, and to remain among her connections, all was in vain. She continued to lead the life of a savage, and, though she repeated her visits to her friends in New England, she uniformly persisted in wearing her blanket and counting her beads. Two of the children of Mr. Williams, after their return, became worthy and respectable ministers; one at Waltham, the other at Long Meadow, in Springfield.

The captive Mr. Williams, upon his return to the colony, was desired, by the remnant of his Deerfield friends, to resume the duties of his pastoral office in that place. He complied with their request, and, having rëmarried, reared another family of children, and died in 1729.

During Queen Anne's War, no other single tragedy occurred like that of Deerfield; but, at all times, the enemy were prowling about the frontier settlements, watching, in concealment, for an opportunity to strike a sudden blow, and, having done irreparable mischief, to escape with safety. The women and children retired into garrisons; the men left their fields uncultivated, or labored with arms at their sides, and having sentinels posted at every point whence an attack could be apprehended. Yet, notwithstanding these precautions, the Indians were often successful, killing sometimes an individual, sometimes a whole family, sometimes a band of laborers, ten or twelve in number; and, so alert were they in their movements, that but few of them fell into the hands of the whites.

Queen Anne died in 1714, and George I., of the house of Brunswick, ascended the throne of England. During the reign of the latter, a state of warfare existed between the enemy and the colony of Massachusetts and New Hampshire for several years, distressing to the former, but attended by few signal conflicts, disasters, or victories. At length, however, it was discovered that the Indians, although instigated still by the French, were not averse to peace. Accordingly, towards the latter part of the year 1725, a treaty was concluded at Boston, and the next spring was ratified at Falmouth. A period of tranquillity succeeded this event in the northern colonies.

X. WAR OF GEORGE II.

War between England and France, 1744—French take Canso—Effect of this Declaration of War upon the Indians—Attack upon Great Meadows (now Putney)—Also, upon Ashuelot (now Keene)—Expedition against Louisburg—Particulars of it—Surrender of it—Continuance of the War—Various places assaulted—Savage Barbarities following the surrender of Fort Massachusetts—Peace declared.

The attempts to maintain peace with the Indians were successful through a number of years. The most happy expedient which the English adopted for that purpose, was the erection of trading-houses, where goods were furnished by government to be exchanged for furs, which the Indians brought to them. This had the effect of conciliating the Indians, and, as it stimulated their industry, it was more serviceable to them than direct gifts. In the course of time, however, they began to be restive. Their intercourse with the whites, for trading purposes, renewed reminiscences of the attacks and cruelties committed upon the exterior settlements. The Indians were wont to boast of their feats, and of the tortures inflicted upon the captured English; in some instances, the friends of those with whom they were now holding intercourse. They were disposed frequently, when provoked or intoxicated, to threaten to come again, with the war-whoop and the tomahawk. Hence, individual acts of violence occasionally took place, at or near the trading-towns, and it was evident that, whenever war between the English and French should commence, there would be a reiteration of the former scenes and acts of atrocity.

The day of blood at length arrived. It was in the year 1744, that England and France again commenced hostilities. The intelligence no sooner crossed the Atlantic, than the frontiers of the colonies became the area of the conflict, and the blood-thirsty savage took up his hatchet, with the intention of giving vent to his long pent-up vengeance. George II. had been on the throne several years.

Before the proclamation of war was known at Boston, the French governor of Cape Breton sent a party to take Canso, which was effected, and the captives were conveyed to Louisburg. The proclamation of war seems to have had a singular effect on the Indians, who had manifested a degree of attachment to the whites. It awakened the naturally ferocious feelings of the savage—feelings that had been for some time suspended; and, forgetting the many ties of acquaintance and friendly intercourse, he easily fell back upon those habits of carnage and plunder, in which he was originally nurtured. The effect of the proclamation of war, on all the other Indians, was to have been expected, as gratifying their long-indulged desires of mingling in the scenes of murder and pillage. It was an unhappy circumstance, in regard to the Indians who had been indulged with so intimate an intercourse with the whites, that they were perfectly acquainted with all the routes from Canada to the various English settlements, thus serving as guides for others, or facilitating their predatory irruptions.

With a wise foresight, upon the first intimation of war, several new forts were ordered to be built in exposed parts of the country, the western regiments of militia in Massachusetts were called on for their quotas of men to defend the frontiers in that quarter, and scouting parties were employed in various places for the purpose of discovering the incursions of the enemy, and ferreting out their trails. But happily, during the first year, they remained quiet, or were secretly making their preparations for the part they intended hereafter to enact.

The Indians commenced operations in July, 1745, at the Great Meadow, now Putney, on the Connecticut, and a few days after at upper Ashuelot (Keene), killing at each place an individual. Somewhat later in the year, the Great Meadow was the scene of another attack, with a small loss to the whites, as also to the Indians. The vigilance of the colonists, however, was so unceasing, that but little opportunity at this time was afforded for the gratification of their malignity.

The eyes of the New England colonists were now fixed on one great enterprise, the reduction of Louisburg, on the island of Cape Breton, a place of incredible strength, which had been twenty-five years in building. Accordingly, four thousand troops from the several colonies, as far as Pennsylvania, were raised, the command of which was assigned to William Pepperell. On the 4th of April, 1745, the expedition had arrived at Canso. Here they were detained three weeks on account of the ice. At length Commodore Warren, according to orders from England, arrived at Canso in a ship of sixty guns, with three other ships of forty guns each. After a consultation with Pepperell, the commodore proceeded to cruise before Louisburg. Soon after, the general sailed with the whole fleet. On the 30th of April, landing his troops, he invested the city. A portion of the troops on the north-east part of the harbor, meeting with the warehouses containing the naval stores, set them on fire. The smoke, driven by the wind into the grand battery, so terrified the French, that they abandoned it. After spiking the guns, they returned to the city. Colonel Vaughan, who conducted the first column, took possession of the deserted battery. With extreme difficulty, cannon were drawn up for fourteen nights successively, from the landing-place, through a morass to the camp. It was done by men with straps over their shoulders, and sinking to their knees in the mud; a service which oxen or horses on such ground could not have performed. The cannon of the forsaken battery were drilled, and turned with good effect on the city.

On the 7th of May, a summons was sent to the commanding officer of Louisburg, but he refused to surrender the place. The efforts of the assailants were then renewed, and put forth to the utmost, both by the commodore's fleet and the land forces. Their efforts were at length crowned with success. Discouraged by the whole aspect of affairs, Duchambon, the French commander, felt under the necessity of surrendering; and, accordingly, on the 16th of June, articles of capitulation were signed.